Bus Rider
by katrinka612
Summary: He's not a snob. He can ride the bus like everyone else. Well, maybe not. But he'll do it for the chance to be near the beautiful stranger every day. AH one-shot.


I never thought of myself as a snob. Yes, I grew up with money. Yes, I have a trust fund and a nice car. Well, I had a nice car until some bottle blonde with fake boobs ran a red light and crashed into me. She actually offered me a blow job by way of apology. I just took her insurance information instead. The news from my mechanic wasn't great. The car was salvageable but, because it wasn't just some Toyota or Ford but a 1977 Aston Martin V8 Vantage – one of the first off the line – it would take a few weeks to track down all the parts.

I could have made the trip out to my parent's house to pick up my old Volvo. I could have taken cabs or lined up a car service. I could have rented a car. I could have bought a new car. Hell, I probably could have hired some people to carry me around in a litter Cleopatra style. But I was not a snob. I would do what normal people did when they didn't have a car. I would take the bus.

I was actually looking forward to this adventure. Riding the bus would give me a chance to relax before going to work – I could read, listen to music, people watch or just zone out for 40 minutes. My romantic notion of the bus began to wane when my alarm went off an hour earlier than usual. It weakened further as I waited twenty minutes in the rain for the bus to come, coffee in one hand and umbrella in the other. When the bus eventually arrived, I cursed my lack of a third hand as I juggled my belongings to get cash and pay the fare. It was when I finally was on the bus and had a chance to look around that I realized I was a snob.

The bus began to move as I walked to the back, and I lurched forward, catching myself on a pole. I gagged when my hand came away sticky and I wondered why I didn't think to bring hand sanitizer or wet wipes or a blow torch. When I had grabbed the pole, momentum swung me toward a grizzled man who smelled like vinegar. He was pretending not to listen to the equally dirty woman next to him who was explaining that she was on her way back to detox. A little boy pelted me with Cheerios as I passed him. For the first time in my life, I contemplated punching a child. How did I think riding the bus would be a good idea? I was not meant for public transportation. I was meant for expensive cars, private jets and gilded chariots.

After glaring at the child for what was probably an immature amount of time, I resumed looking for a seat. There was one open one. As I moved to claim it, I realized I would have to send the twat who hit my car a thank-you note. In the seat next to the empty one sat the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had long dark hair and wide brown eyes against creamy pale skin and full cherry-red lips. I felt sure that she must taste like a chocolate sundae. However, I knew enough public transportation etiquette to know that it was considered gauche to lick other travelers, so I just took my seat. As I sat, Chocolate Sundae Girl crouched over her bag on the floor, pulled out a package of baby wipes and offered me one with a sympathetic smile. I smiled my thanks and began scouring my hands as she turned away from me.

I surreptitiously watched her, trying to absorb every detail. Her body was angled toward the window – watching the world go by – which was good for me because it meant that I could look at her with less risk of getting caught. But it was also bad for me because I couldn't see much other than the back of her head, her headphones and a small sliver of her profile. Occasionally I could see her lips move, so slight it was almost nothing more than a tremble, mouthing the words of the music she was listening to. I was nearly incinerated by my desire to know her, hear her voice, learn her name and tell her mine. I worried that I would come off as obnoxious by trying to talk to her while she had headphones on. I decided to write her a note, hoping it would seem quirky and charming and not weird and creepy. I pulled a scrap of paper and pen out of my bag and scribble the note.

_What are you listening to?_

I folded the paper and pushed it under her fingers, which were resting on her thigh. She started at the contact and looked down at her hand. She picked up the paper and looked up at me questioningly. I nodded my head toward it as a signal for her to read it. She hesitated for a second, but opened the note. She seemed confused by the whole exchange but not upset – so far, so good.

She read the note then looked back at me with a shy smile.

"Pearl Jam," she mouthed. I grinned back at her, amused by her answer given what she was wearing. She was dressed in a large flannel shirt and Doc Martens. Of course she was listening to Pearl jam; she looked like she just fell out of the '90s Seattle grunge scene. A blush crept across her cheeks as my eyes roamed over her.

The bus slowed and she broke eye contact to look back out the window. She then quickly grabbed the bag and umbrella at her feet and stood up.

"My stop," she said, giving me another small smile. I stood up to let her by. She passed by slowly enough for me to smell her hair – strawberries. Her scent dazed my senses and I nearly missed getting off the bus two stops later.

It's true that I thought about Chocolate Sundae Girl throughout that entire day. It's true that I thought about her the next morning as I got ready for work. It's also true that I especially thought about her as I waited for the bus again. But I didn't truly believe that I'd actually see her again. Even if she was a regular commuter, what are the odds that we'd manage to get on the same bus? It would only take one of us being a few minutes off to uncross our paths.

Regardless, my eyes immediately sought her out as soon as I stepped on the bus. My breath caught in my throat because, thank sweet baby Jesus, she was there. She was standing near the rear door, headphones on again. I took in her appearance as I moved in her direction. Today she was wearing ripped jeans, black boots and a black leather coat. I nearly laughed out loud at the incongruity of that sweet, delicate looking creature decked out in such bad assery.

As I sidled up to her, I considered rather belatedly that she might think I was obnoxious for seeking her out again. I thought I was a fairly non-threatening presence, but people don't talk to each other on the bus. Not sane people, anyway. I was relived, then, that her eyes lit up and she smiled when she noticed me. I smiled back and raised my eyebrows pointedly, eyeing her headphones.

"Sex Pistols," she said softly. I laughed and shook my head.

The next day, I found her sitting up front and I nearly had to put my sunglasses on when I took in her outfit. She was wearing black spandex pants with silver stars all over them and a sparkly red shirt. This could only mean one thing.

"David Bowie," I guessed when she looked up at me. Her jaw dropped then moved to form an amazingly bright smile as she nodded. Seattle had never seen such sunshine.

It became a game of sorts for me to guess what she was listening to. Sometimes it was easy like the day she was wearing a tie-dyed shirt and listening to the Mamas and Papas. Or the day she was dressed in her Lower-East-Side best and listening to Grizzly Bear. There were silly days like when she was listening to Rage Against the Machine and wearing a t-shirt with Lenin, Stalin, Mao and Castro holding red plastic cups and Karl Marx with a lampshade on his head. _The Communist Party_. Other days were less obvious, like the day she showed up wearing what probably could have been pajamas and listening to Iron and Wine. Then there was the day I found her in a tight, calf-length gray skirt, a white blouse and black tie, and dangerous looking black heels.

"Rammstein," she said and then she pulled a wooden ruler out of her bag and slapped it against her palm a few times. I nearly came in my pants.

We formed a strange camaraderie over those few weeks. We hadn't really talked beside exchanging band names. I still didn't know her name and she didn't know mine. But I knew at least seven of her different smiles. I knew she could only read on the bus for a few minutes at a time before she started to turn green. I knew by the way that she thanked the drivers by name when she got off that, not only did she ride that bus a lot, but that she cared enough to learn and remember the names of the people who served her every day.

I barely missed my car as those weeks flew by. However, a call from my mechanic told me that my time being a bus rider would soon be over. I was surprised that I felt more regret than relief at the news. I began pondering if it was more wasteful to drive every day and pollute the environment or to leave a $200,000 car in the garage. Of course, if I was being honest with myself, I wasn't worrying about the environment as much as I was unwilling to miss out on seeing Chocolate Sundae Girl.

It only took one long shower thinking about Chocolate Sundae Girl to realize I could have the best of both worlds. I didn't need to choose between the bus and her. The two of them together fulfilled every straight guy's fantasies: driving a hot car with a hot chick riding shotgun.

I got on the bus that day with a mission. I would take the next few days to actually talk to Chocolate Sundae Girl, and when she seemed comfortable with me, I would ask her to carpool with me … because it's good for the environment, of course. I scanned the passengers for her sweet face but she was nowhere to be seen. _Fuck_. It never occurred to me that she might not be there because she was always there. I panicked a little. I tried to reason with myself. _Maybe I just missed her. It's a miracle we managed to be on the same bus all these weeks. _For some reason, the bus was smellier and stickier that day than it had been for a long time.

I boarded the bus the following day a nervous wreck. My knees nearly buckled in relief when I saw her sitting toward the back of the bus. She looked different, though. Her head was resting against the window and her eyes were closed. She was wearing jeans, a plain white t-shirt and an oversized navy hoodie. But strangest of all, she wasn't wearing any headphones. I slid into the seat next to her.

"Hey, where's your music? I missed you yester– Oh, Jesus..."

She opened her eyes and turned to me as I began talking. Her eyes were red and puffy like she'd been crying and her usually expressive face was empty.

"What's wrong?" I asked. She let out a big gust of air, crossed her arms on the chair in front of her and leaned her head against them. She searched my face for a moment before responding.

"My boyfriend and I broke up the night before last. The iPod and headphones are his and he took them with him."

I reached out and started rubbing small circles on her back. It was probably inappropriate considering I barely knew her, but I could feel her relax under my touch.

"Christ, I'm sorry. That sucks."

"It's okay. It was my idea and it was a long time coming. I still decided to take a mental health day, though," she smirked. "Of course, now I have to ride the bus in silence."

"If you had your iPod, what do you think you would be listening to today?"

"I don't know. Something soothing."

I put my free arm on the chair in front of me and lowered my head so we were almost nose to nose. I began to hum all the soothing songs I could think of. Occasionally she would hum along to the songs she recognized.

Too soon, she gathered her stuff and stood up.

"My stop," she said quietly. She stepped past me but this time she turned around and looked back at me.

"Thanks."

"Anytime," I replied.

The world felt off-kilter as I watched my normally dazzling Chocolate Sundae Girl shuffle off the bus. I could think of only one way to fix it. So instead of heading straight for the office, I went to the nearest electronics store and bought an iPod and a nice pair of headphones.

I got on the bus that evening to go home. I did a double take when I saw my Chocolate Sundae Girl. I never saw her on the bus at night because I went home later than the average commuter. She was sitting in the same seat as when I first saw her those few weeks ago.

"Fancy meeting you here," I said, unable to temper my excitement.

Her answering smile was radiant. "I had to work a double today to make up for missing yesterday."

I sat down, dug through my bag and pulled out my purchases. I had hoped to gift wrap them, but I couldn't wait to give them to her when I had her with me now.

"I hope this isn't too weird, but I got you something. No one should ever look as sad as you did this morning."

She gave me a funny look but opened the plastic bag. Her eyes widened and she started to push it back to me.

"I can't accept these. They must have cost you almost $500!"

"Yes, you can accept them. Firstly, everyone needs portable music. And the noise cancellation headphones are good for your ears because you don't have to blast your music to hear it over the bus engine. Secondly, I have a ridiculous trust fund and, when it was released to me, my parents told me not to use it to pay for parties and buy fast cars, but to use it make a beautiful girl happy one day. And that's what I did today … I hope. So if you want to argue with someone, I'll give you my parents' phone number."

She looked between the bag and me a couple times, panic and indecision in her eyes.

"Maybe you should give me your parents' number anyway so I can call and thank them," she said finally.

"I'll make sure to pass it along. This is a little backward, but I'm Edward, by the way." I extended my hand toward her.

"I'm Bella," she replied, putting her small hand in mine.

I excitedly showed Bella the features of her new iPod and headphones the rest of the way home. Shortly before we got to her stop, she looked at me with a combination of her shy smile and hesitant smile.

"My roommate and I are having tacos tonight and making sundaes for dessert. Do you want to join us?"

Did I ever.


End file.
